


the moonlight's voice

by hanayagay



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, POV Third Person, mentions of problems regarding eating, retelling of canon events from Hisoka's POV? i guess, stay safe pls!, very brief reference to suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanayagay/pseuds/hanayagay
Summary: Hisoka Mikage and his experience with memories.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	the moonlight's voice

**Author's Note:**

> yay! act 5 is on EN now!! 
> 
> with that said, there are spoilers from act 5 in this fic (obviously!) so read with caution! this fic hardly has any dialogue bcs its very focused on hisoka's inner struggle w his memories and all that, but the very few lines of dialogue that are here are pulled directly from act 5! also a bit from that one christmas event that kinda foreshadowed act 5. yeah. fun!
> 
> i experimented with my writing style a bit here. hisoka is a character i identify with a lot & he means a lot to me, and writing this was really fun (and painful) !! i hope u enjoy!

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Or, well, maybe that wasn't quite it. Was it even the beginning? Hisoka didn't know—and, looking back on it, it most certainly wasn't. If anything, it was more like the second book in a trilogy, preceded by a prequel and followed by what would become the next installment: the next part of his life, that is. 

At the time, though, it certainly felt like the beginning. Almost as if the prequel hadn't yet been written, and he was a blank slate fitted into what was supposed to be an already developed story. Though it _was_ true that he had nothing—nothing that would help his situation at all, anyways. All that remained was the recollection of his name.

Hisoka Mikage. Everyone had a name, he knew this much, and yet… it was something he wanted to hold tight onto. Most likely because it was all he had—or, maybe, there was something on a more subconscious level that allowed him to at least hold tight to that bit of information.

When Hisoka came to, the first thing he heard was the crashing of ocean waves against the shore. The sound was far too loud, and a part of his brain urged him to get away from it, but–

God, his body _hurt._ Stiff from the cold and sticking uncomfortably to his half-soaked clothes, the simple act of dragging himself a few mere feet away suddenly felt as difficult as running a marathon in summer heat. Somehow, though, he felt almost accustomed to the soreness stabbing at his limbs—like it wasn't the first time he had to brave such pain and press on.

It was a weird thought, so Hisoka quickly discarded it. Just trying to dig up any memory of his past made his head throb and overwhelmed him to the point of wanting to pass out, so he quickly dropped that in favor of slowly, slowly crawling away from the loud waves. 

Finally moving after God-knows-how-long he spent lying unconscious on the ground revitalized him in an odd way, but also brought on a new wave of exhaustion. On one hand, his limbs didn't feel like total giant sacks of rocks anymore—if anything, they were just mildly inconvenient weights now. On the other, though… He wanted to sleep. 

Well, it wasn't as if he had anything to lose. Hisoka hadn't a single memory to his name; nowhere to go, no one to see. So, really, was there any reason _to_ be awake?

Was there any reason for him to be here, alone, with nothing left?

Once again, he tossed that thought onto the backburner in favor of curling into himself and drifting off to sleep. Even if he was cold, even if the sand slipped through his clothes and itched in the worst way, he didn't care. 

There was no reason to, anyways. Nothing at all.

* * *

The following days after that were a bit of a blur—and, just like everything else about himself, he could hardly recall it. If anything, he felt as if he was just drifting along; not quite in his own body. Like an audience member watching a performance.

If he played the role of a homeless person, sometimes people would pity him and give him something. Maybe he was _actually_ homeless, or maybe not. He didn't know, but food was a necessity, so it wasn't like he would deny the offer of pocket change or a small snack. None of the food was very satisfying, though—it felt too bland, too unappetizing. Deep in his subconscious, he craved something else, but…

What was it? 

There was no use thinking about it. Nevertheless, he needed food to live, so he accepted whatever he could get.

Most of all, though, he spent his time sleeping. It was all he had, really, and he felt constantly plagued by a heavy sense of exhaustion. Such a feeling wasn't foreign, though—his body seemed used to it, almost, so maybe it was something he always struggled with. At least that was another part of his past self that remained, as inconvenient as it was.

And maybe, in the end, such an ailment managed to work in his favor. In a twist of fate, he found himself asleep on the doorstep of a certain building; and when Hisoka opened his eyes, he was met with the soft texture of a sofa and bright, warm lights.

First and foremost, it made him even sleepier. Hisoka hadn't felt proper warmth since he first woke up by the ocean—the bitter winds outside were always brutal, after all. Especially at night. 

Whoever decided to pick him up seemed rather keen on keeping him conscious, though. Which, really, was a pain. Multiple voices prodded for information about him, and that was an even _bigger_ pain, both figuratively and literally. It was annoying, sure, but all the questions and voices were all so unfamiliar and not even _he_ knew the answers to them… it was overwhelming. His head hurt.

There was one thing he could tell them, though. The only part of him he had managed to actually hold on to.

_...Hisoka Mikage._

* * *

Mankai Company, he decided, was probably the best thing to ever happen to him. At least, to his knowledge it was—it wasn't as if he remembered anything more than waking up soaked in salt water and wandering around aimlessly for a few days, so there wasn't much to compare it to, but still. He learned a lot there.

For one, he finally found something he always felt was missing: sweets. More specifically, marshmallows. Hisoka didn't like most foods for a variety of reasons. Texture, taste, smell… the list went on. Marshmallows, though, he loved; they were comforting and familiar, like it was a snack he frequented in the past. He liked to hold tight to little familiarities like that.

Hisoka also learned he was skilled at acting. Or, at least, the director said as much. He didn't see how it could be all that difficult, really. 

And, finally—slowly, gradually—he learned the warmth of human affection. The process was long and the five of them stumbled quite a bit, but Hisoka had never felt so… so _human_ until now. He wasn't simply drifting aimlessly anymore. He wasn't simply _nothing_ anymore.

He could call himself Hisoka Mikage and such words would actually hold meaning. Gradually, he was building himself into something new, thanks to the people around him.

Hisoka found he felt less and less overwhelmed as time passed. Thoughts of his unknown past began to plague him less, and he thought he could finally leave whatever he had been behind and continue on to the sequel of his life. The life of the actor, Hisoka Mikage.

...That is, until he remembered.

He… had probably seen it coming, albeit unconsciously. Snippets in his dreams he couldn't recall after awakening—a distant presence in the back of his mind, teasingly close and yet still out of reach. There was a ticking time bomb resting inside of him; silent, still, waiting. A few hours before their performance, it decided to blow.

When he slept at night, his dreams brought flashes of… something. Vague feelings—memories, maybe—that he could barely put a name to. Hisoka would startle awake in the dead of night, burying his head in his pillow to muffle his panicked choking because the last thing he wanted was to wake Arisu up. Arisu was noisy and fussy, and might panic if he caught Hisoka in a fit of sputtering coughs with tears burning at his eyes for no reason. It would be troublesome.

Folded in on himself, Hisoka would lay in bed, trying to slow his heaving breaths to match Arisu's faint, peaceful ones. His forehead pressed into his pillow, which was damp with… sweat, maybe, or tears. Who knows?

All Hisoka _did_ know was that he needed to get out of the bedroom. It was far too warm and he felt as if the walls were closing in on him, swallowing him whole like the crashing ocean waves from– from… 

_From what? From when?_

His feet hit the ground without a sound. Over the past few nights of sneaking out after hours of thrashing, Hisoka found that he could silently jump from his loft bed to the floor. It was far faster and more convenient than taking the ladder.

The voices of his fellow troupe members sat in the back of his mind—sleeping in the courtyard was no good, they said, because he would only get even sicker than he already was. Which, honestly, he wouldn't care about under normal circumstances, but they had a performance the following day and the thought of messing that up left a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Instead, he slipped into the first door he could find—swift and silent, just as he was taught.

_...Who taught him that?_

God, his head hurt. Still feeling feverish, in a corner of the room he curled into himself, instinctively double checking to make sure he was, for the most part, hidden. Hisoka hated feeling this weak—weak in the most overwhelming kind of way. His head was throbbing, and pressing it against the cool wooden floor of the storage room did nothing to ease the pain.

With a sigh, he decided to let his eyes fall shut, curling further into himself. Distant in the back of his mind, there was something… _something,_ and yet–

_Lie low until you recover your strength, fall back if anything strays too far from the plan, and come back safe because we're waiting for you at home, Dec–_

Hisoka fell asleep in seconds.

* * *

_August._

At the recollection of the name and a memory buried deep within him, Hisoka cried. He wasn't loud, he didn't sob or even sniffle—he felt far too faint to even try to expend that much effort on tears, and he could feel the presence of the director beside him. Suppressing his burst of emotion was his first instinct, and he stuck with it, because he absolutely did not want to explain anything to Izumi.

Not just her; he couldn't possibly tell anyone. They had all been kind enough to take him in despite his memory loss, but–

Would they feel the same when they found out the truth? That he did the absolute unthinkable to someone so close to him, that he…

Did he let August die?

The image of a bloodied man in his arms—it was all he could recall. That and the cruel ocean waves, crashing against a cliffside, growing louder and louder until they swallowed him whole.

It was overwhelming _._ Unbearably so. But he needed to keep this to himself, as painful as it was; so when the others asked about his regained memories, he gave a simple response.

"...I forgot."

Thankfully, everyone believed him. Maybe that's one perk of being an amnesiac; at least no one expected anything from him.

Hisoka knew he couldn't tell them anything. Not when his head was full of things he couldn't understand—just little snippets of a life he once knew, and they all hurt his head. It was as if he only had 20 pieces of a 100 piece puzzle, and none of them fit together or even gave a hint of what the full picture was. All it did was overwhelm him, confuse him–

Most importantly, though, he couldn't tell them out of fear of what they'd say. What if they hate him? What if he's left alone again? He doesn't remember much of his past, but the memory of August's death gives him a bitter sting of pain and loneliness… 

At his core, Hisoka really is selfish. He's selfish, and he doesn't want to be alone again, so–

* * *

Even after he remembered August, the nightmares didn't end. Hisoka got used to them over time, making up lost sleep at night in naps during the day. 

Ironically, Hisoka almost wished that Arisu would be a bit more noisy in his sleep, too; annoying or not, he wanted a distraction from all the broken pieces of his past self coming to haunt him. No, he needed it—needed something to ground him, something to prove that his current life was real. Something to remind him that he was more than the pathetic remains of his past, whatever it had been.

One night a few weeks after their showdown with God-za, he sat in bed, chest heaving—this was a regular occurance, now. Every few nights he'd startle awake, coughing up the ghost of water in his lungs, and try pitifully to stay silent. 

When his stuttering breaths calmed, he pulled his knees against his chest and brought his hands to his eyes, pressing the bottom of his palms against his eyelids until stars decorated the insides of them. Hisoka tried to ignore the small voice in his head that quietly, quietly told him, _"it should have been you."_

He was so tired.

Aside from the occasional nightmares, though, things slowly returned to the same lull as before he regained some of his memory. The familiarity of it all helped ground him a considerable amount; and that was one of the things he liked about Mankai Company. Despite everything, despite the issues he's caused and how odd his circumstances must seem, everyone accepted him without question. Even when he's selfish, or causes concern by falling asleep outside or hidden away behind the washing machine, they still love him. It's bizarre—but, well, he was already well aware by that point that the company was full of oddballs.

In the comfort of daily life, his mind settles down. Hisoka found that he usually gets the most overwhelmed when he's alone; like in the darkness of the night, or during rare days when the dorms are near empty. The lack of a distraction leaves him with only his thoughts and the haunting reminder of his unclear past.

Around Christmas, they were asked to put on performances in mixed groups. It went alright at first—his lack of experience with holiday celebrations wasn't much of a problem, since others such as Sakuya had a similar issue (though far different circumstances).

The performance, however, didn't go as smoothly.

Hisoka knew something was wrong. The feeling started when he saw the gingerbread—and there was a nagging presence in the back of his mind. The ghost of a memory just barely there.

_Gingerbread is something that should be eaten with family during Christmas._

Someone… had said that to him, once before. It was all muddled in his mind, but surely– _surely_ he had heard it, somewhere, sometime.

The last push he needed was the scene he acted out with Sakuya.

"I wonder if it's cold… or maybe hungry?" Sakuya had approached him, smiling kindly and holding out the gingerbread they prepared for this scene. "Right, here, have this. It's gingerbread."

Hisoka's breath caught in his throat, his body freezing where he sat onstage.

It seemed so familiar, like a reality he'd lived out years ago. A memory of a smile and kind voice that could warm even Hisoka's purple-ish fingers, numbed by the harsh winter cold. But, but– why was he outside, why was he so cold, _why does the taste of gingerbread and the chill of winter air make him feel like his mind is falling in on itself–_

Thankfully, Sakuya's adlib snapped him out of it before he could fall victim to his own thoughts. For the sake of the performance, Hisoka cleared his mind, and he allowed the scene to play out.

* * *

Hisoka decided, after their first interaction, that he didn't like Chikage very much.

Being around him made the static in Hisoka's head so much worse, not to mention how his mere _presence_ was irritating. When Chikage first joined, it was almost as if he was looking right through everyone, hiding himself behind lies—everyone except Hisoka, at least. No, with Hisoka, his perfectly crafted smile would falter. Chikage looked not through him, but instead, directly at him.

Hisoka didn't like it. Didn't like how Chikage glared at him, didn't like how Chikage urged him to remember his past—and, most importantly, Hisoka despised seeing him infiltrate the family he'd come to hold so close to his heart.

April. _April._

Though he hated to admit it, the name did ring a bell, in the depths of his muddled memories. Hisoka couldn't grasp specifically who he was, but he _did_ know that it was someone he knew, once upon a time. In a past life he couldn't yet recall, the name April most certainly meant something to him.

Chikage's words bothered him far more than he would have liked. Before now, Hisoka selfishly pushed any and all thoughts of his past away, because—because… he was scared. The flashes of memories he saw in his dreams were a reality he didn't want to face.

But he couldn't run from them anymore. That past of his, whatever it had been, was coming full force to haunt him in the form of Chikage—of _April._ For the people who took him in when he was nothing, for his precious family's sake, Hisoka needed to remember.

_His precious family._

_...Which family?_

God, Hisoka was so tired. 

For the time being, he would continue to avoid Chikage, continue to selfishly run from his past. When Arisu asked if he felt alright, Hisoka would mumble something about being sleepy. He would bury his face in the noisy pillow's lap and pretend that his mind didn't feel as if it was falling in on itself.

...Of course, that facade couldn't last forever. It came to the point where Hisoka was even afraid to _sleep_ —and so he'd simply lie on the couch, eyes blankly staring ahead while he listened to the bustle of the lounge room. If he was lucky, the chatter of the others would fill his mind. Any distraction from his thoughts was better than mulling over them, better than letting the fear and anxiety overwhelm him.

Unconsciously, he stopped eating, too. It wasn't on purpose; thoughts of marshmallows simply slipped his mind, too caught up in trying to ignore the memories that made his head throb. His body seemed accustomed to going long periods of time without proper food anyways, so it was fine. He was fine like this.

...For being such a good actor, he was terrible at fooling the others. Last time, when he first remembered August, it was different. The five of them were only just beginning to get closer. Now, though, they _knew_ Hisoka—they took care of him, far more than necessary. 

When the director and Chikage disappeared, he knew he needed to take action. Hisoka wanted to— _needed to_ save her and the company, just like they had saved him. If confronting his past was what he had to do to achieve that, then so be it. 

Plus, with the words of encouragement from his fellow troupe members—his _family_ —he felt that he could relax a little. Because… he trusted them. He trusted their words, their promises. 

_"We promise we will all be by your side when you wake."_

That was all Hisoka ever needed. 

* * *

When he slowly slipped back into consciousness, a lot of emotions welled up in him. 

Overwhelming grief, for one. Now that he remembered so much about August—the person who took him in when he had nothing, who loved him so unconditionally, who was his precious family—the reality of his death hit so much harder. The image of him wrapped in Hisoka's arms, bloodied, pale, and using the last of his breath to urge Hisoka to _live…_ It hurt.

But he couldn't mull on that feeling for long, because Arisu's words struck something in him.

"Hisoka-kun," he called, placing a hand on Hisoka's arm to stop him before he could go after Chikage and Izumi. "...Even if you can’t precisely understand the other person’s feelings, you can put yourself in their shoes. Isn’t that right?"

Hisoka stared back at him. Briefly, he thought that Arisu really had grown—he wasn't the cold cyborg that he always thought he had been. Arisu was kind and thoughtful… and maybe a little bit meddlesome at times, but it always came from a good place in his heart. 

Though Hisoka would never outwardly express such appreciation. That'd be embarrassing, and Arisu would surely never let him live it down.

Just this once, he did allow himself to smile for a moment, meeting Arisu's eyes. "...That's right," he replied. Though his tone was quiet as always, Hisoka hoped that his feelings would get across to him nonetheless. 

Those words reminded Hisoka of what else was really important here; Chikage. Someone so close to him who he had unknowingly left behind, who lost his entire family and was given no time to truly mourn. Despite everything, Chikage had been his family for the longest—and now that he remembered everything, Hisoka was determined to bring him into his new life. 

The life that August gifted to him. 

* * *

In the beginning—his true beginning—there was nothing. Nothing but a cold boy left fending for himself, abandoned in a cruel world. A time where he might have distantly wished for death to take him somewhere better.

A kind smile and the taste of gingerbread changed that, and he learned the warmth of a family. Being able to bake a birthday cake alongside August, or managing to curl up and sleep on April's lap while listening to the drone of his complaining… Their lives weren't optimal, but together, they managed. 

Now, in the present, he could say with certainty that he had relearned how it felt to be loved by a family. When Arisu teasingly chided him for his selfishness despite still indulging him. When Chikage sighed and softly shoved at Hisoka whenever the latter laid down on his lap, yet otherwise didn't complain when he fell asleep. When Tasuku dragged him from the courtyard to his bedroom, grumbling despite how gently he'd place Hisoka on his bed. When Omi went out of his way to make meals he knew Hisoka would like, because he always kept in mind how selective his taste was. 

Now, Hisoka wasn't afraid of remembering anymore. There were people he could rely on now, people who unabashedly cared for him even after all the trouble he caused them. 

Of course, he wouldn't stop hurting. For as long as he lives, Hisoka would miss August, and he would surely still be haunted by that night. But dealing with it was a bit easier by his family's side—now, he could listen to Chikage tell stories of August, or curl up in Arisu's bed and drift off to quietly mumbled poems after a particularly bad nightmare. 

Despite everything, Hisoka would be alright. As long as he was here with his precious family, living the life August had given him—the life of the actor Hisoka Mikage—then surely he would be alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!!! kudos and comments are SUPER appreciated, i dont respond since im shy but they rly rly make me happy ♡♡
> 
> my twitter is @kuroddin, i talk abt hisoka (and gekka) a lot !!


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